


he's a lonely, bitter boy.

by TranslatorError



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, content warning for minor violence, done for bad things happen bingo: childhood trauma, introspective into mariks childhood, ishizu and bakura are described but do not speak, nothing graphic is described but its violence canon to sub, ship content is minor at the end and can be taken platonically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 14:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TranslatorError/pseuds/TranslatorError
Summary: //Content warnings for canon-typical violence referenced. Battle city spoilers.A man who had nothing will forever be a forgotten man. Trees in the forest, with no one to hear them, will collapse and regrow in accordance with wind currants battering their trunks. It was not wrong to want. Why does he feel guilty?Something in his chest resounded with that thought. He had no reason to feel guilt over wanting what he couldn't have.Written to fulfill a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: Childhood trauma.
Relationships: Yami Bakura & Marik Ishtar, Yami Bakura/Marik Ishtar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	he's a lonely, bitter boy.

Down by the market was a lonely, bitter boy.

He wasn't sad, though. Thrilled to be out on the surface, no longer surrounded by pillar people - there was nothing quite like it. Ishizu cradled his hand like a leash, careful to not meet the eyes of men who might question the pair. The lingering presence of warmth in palm held him still, but not still enough to abate his excitement. This was humanity. The people they served to protect, subjects to the Pharaoh whose history burrowed deep into the bones of his back, yet no one seemed to even mumble the name of the rulers of old. Conversations about media, a box with little people in it, and it's all so overwhelming.

Scurrying past the townsmen, Marik stared towards a crumpled book forgotten by the wayside. Why was it not cherished? Scriptures were codes of honour the people of the land must follow. Written word carries weight, and with that weight came the worth of the transcripts produced for the masses. To so carelessly toss something of value was to be wasteful. He had decided, on that day, that the people had too much. Only hands filled with ripe and plentiful bounty could release that which they oversaw. Animals lay dormant on an ink layer of the book. No honour for the craft, passers-by had trodden over the cover to the point of obscurity. In a perfect world, the Pharaoh wouldn't allow them to be so disorderly.

On one page, an unfamiliar contraption seemed to be subservient to its human passenger. He gasped, talked aloud to the deaf ears of street folk, and marvelled at the world he never experienced. So much he hadn't been allowed to see. Another light box displayed the mechanical object in motion. In colour, without words, a lifestyle that he didn't know existed. What lay beyond his small grasp was God's domain. Ishtars weren't made for the light of Ra, but he lapped at the beaming Sun like it was his birth right.

One hour. It wasn't enough.

Marik had to hold his stomach. Outside was daunting and forbidden to the night dwellers, to the ones who served to protect the peace. One of the box men spoke of something similar - ramblings of justice from the cloak of a blue getup. He must be the earth's keeper if his words rang true. Did he have the carvings as well?

Maybe his had faded with age. One year later, tingles of pain from that time racked his body.

A local had snidely remarked on his awe, something that set Ishizu off and pulling him away from the glass in front of him. She knew so much of the world outside their chambers. TV. Motorcycle. If she had ridden one, or used a TV before, she had never told him. Secrets weren't fair when they had little to entertain themselves with. Oh! Perhaps it was a surprise. That one day she would take him to a motorcycle and show him how to ride.

"As long as I'm a Tombkeeper, I'll never be able to ride a motorcycle or watch a TV," He had remarked, sombrely looking to their linked hands for comfort.

Red flags. Ishizu had heard him, but let the cloth wave in front of her.

Time was a finnicky thing. He couldn't tell the time. Ishizu could, somehow, and he envied her for that, as well as a lot of things. They were to return home after their time. He had promised. His family kept their promises, but he didn't want to. Still, he relented, begging for the book to become one of the few items he could really call his own. His sister could argue and rationalise all she wants, but at least she knew of what they lacked.

Compromise; he take the page, so long as he hide what he takes. That was fine; all he needed was a reason to yearn for the relief of his duties. It would make him more faithful, or so he told himself.

(Men of scripture were always so vague. This man was direct to his approach, immediately warning of the Pharaoh's return. Forsaking their role would bring calamity. Ishizu didn't seem to get it, focusing on his identity, but Marik heard it loud and clear.

He wanted to resist his words. For unlike the scriptures, neither Ishizu nor Marik knew this man's origin. There was no meaning in listening to his caution. His eyes, vacant dusks, held no deception. They held nothing, and that was the problem.

A man who had nothing will forever be a forgotten man. Trees in the forest, with no one to hear them, will collapse and regrow in accordance with wind currents battering their trunks. It was not wrong to want. Why does he feel guilty?

Something in his chest resounded with that thought. He had no reason to feel guilt over wanting what he couldn't have.)

They ran together, and he was chastised for speaking the name he was to worship. He apologised, out of habit, but it didn't sit right. Doubt coiled around his throat. Men of the Earth couldn't hear of the sacred duty they inherited. Was it possible, then...

...that this wasn't a life worthy of living?

Ishiu wanted him to forget. He wouldn't. Thumbing the paper he'd torn before, he swore to never forget the day that passed. Knowing was better than not knowing, than being an ignorant sycophant for a dead man unworthy of praise.

That was wrong. Marik wasn't the type to disrespect their legacy, especially with it being quite literally drilled into him. Thoughts of being the worshipped skittered around his head, and he quashed it with unease.

Down below was their home, and he knew it was where he belonged, despite his grievances. Accustomed to the sky's ambivalence, he couldn't bear the idea of staring meekly at stone slab during the night. Dots and scratches decorated the chiselled rock above, yet it would never compare to stars or clouds, of the beauty of life beyond reach.

Straddling a rock, he tried to imagine the wind passing by his hair. The machine would make some dithering noise on startup but would carry him away from halls of dim light to somewhere more fitting. The Pharaoh didn't have a motorcycle, he'd bet, so Marik would be better than him. Free to roam the expanse of the world that for so long confined him below. From their vantage point above, would the Gods finally smile upon him?

Ishizu quickened her pace down the stairs, and so did he. His bed was disturbed from the way he'd neatly prepared it in the morning. Odion was gone. Why was he gone? Marik didn't care if he was punished. He wanted Odion. He would get his friend - no matter what.

Normally, his father's words were law. Family inheritance meant obedience was the most important thing to him. But he wouldn't lose the only man he cared about to a mistake (mistake? he'd done nothing wrong.) on their behalf. There was no reason to punish him. If protecting the Pharaoh gave his father the right to brutalise Odion, then the Pharaoh was the one in the wrong.

His head hurt.

He wasn't in control anymore. He didn't like that. Odion had said something to him, and he felt himself return to his body, but the unsettling feeling still remained. Someone had - he had - it wasn't him, though - what -

And so, the Ishtar bloodline fell to two.

Odion's arms were around him, and he tried to wiggle free, if only to address that cursed spirit that plagued them earlier. Of course he knew everything, because every adult was like that. Dangling string above his head and letting him toil until the thread unwinds enough for him to pounce. Marik wasn't evil, he just wanted freedom. His brother in arms would grant him anything. Together they could take on anything.

Including the Pharaoh that snuffed out his father's candle. Devout passion led to him becoming a wax sculpture, perfect for the oncoming fires that purged the landscape in red. Marik wasn't about to lay down his life for the man that took his father from him, who'd hurt his sister so.

Somewhere, a boy sweeps the floors of his grandfather's card shop. He's shorter than the broomstick handle, but the world doesn't care about his age.

* * *

Years later, Marik is free to walk the earth. He knows about things his younger self couldn't even imagine. Hatred, broiled over years of feuding with his sister, threatens to spill whenever he spots the visage of the Pharaoh.

The wind pressing flush to his face as he rides is no longer a pipe dream. So much had been sacrificed - to the point he wasn't even sure his younger self would be proud of him - but he had made something of himself.

Whenever he sees Bakura, he's reminded of the lonely boy who wanted more than his lot in life. The need to break free from everything was palpable on his heart. Clotting, but never stopping his drive. There's freedom in embracing the world's hatred, and Bakura resembles that most of all.

Even going so far as to wound himself, he pursues his goals relentlessly. And unlike Marik, he has no lingering attachments to anyone. No Odion to support him. It's tragic. Younger Marik had Ishizu and Odion, but Bakura had never mentioned having an accomplice. They work together out of convenience over any illusion of trust, but Marik wouldn't mind being someone for him to rely on.

He weighed so little when Marik carried him to Yugi's friends. Sixteen years old, on a path for... something, now grunting in pain from his act. Freedom came at a steep cost, but never money. Materialism didn't free you from fate. Kaiba, for all he denies, is another cog in the wheel.

Bakura's frustration at not receiving the Rod is laughable. There is always more work to do to strive for your goal. Surely he knows this. Marik is all too happy to keep working with him, if only to settle that tingly feeling in his stomach.

He can't make that lonely bitter boy happy. Five years and a plethora of knowledge distinguished them. Still, he wishes that he could signal, in some way, that the wounds did heal over time. He hasn't had painful memories of the carving in weeks - even without wearing the uniform of an officer. 

With Bakura, perhaps he could. It's clear to Marik that there's something waiting to be unearthed about his past. But Marik's not a therapist, nor a friend, so he doesn't attempt to pry. He keeps within reach, arms extending much further than before, but reflexively pulls away at the flicker of a flame. Well, Bakura would understand his hesitation. It's the sentiment that counts - that companionship that only comes from mutual strife - which keeps him partnering with Bakura.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, uh, didn't see this one coming. I dropped Aiball week due to burnout and personal issues, but decided to do a sprinto and came up with... this? 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thank you to rabidwheezul for the character suggestion (I am very indecisive so it helped massively) and thanks to everyone that cheered me on while I finished this up.
> 
> I'll be posting the bingo card alongside the fic link to my tumblr, which you can follow @pidgieee. Feel free to send fic ideas or prompts! I can't promise to give a deadline or anything, but I'm willing to do pretty much any ygo series, provided I have enough information on the character to write up. (Can also do other fandoms, but you may need to ask what shows and games I love.)


End file.
